


At Your Mercy

by CallMeCheerios



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: D/s, Discipline, Dom/sub Play, Hand Jobs, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sadism, dom!hux, sub!Kylo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-25
Updated: 2016-06-25
Packaged: 2018-07-18 04:27:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7299535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallMeCheerios/pseuds/CallMeCheerios
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What you need,” Hux paused, throwing Ren’s petty desires back at him, “is to learn some discipline."</p>
            </blockquote>





	At Your Mercy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Polaris](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polaris/gifts).



“What’s to be done with you?” Hux shook his head in dismissal of his own question, as the intended recipient floated somewhere in his periphery. 

Hux paced, arms held behind him, left wrist clasped in his right hand. He was breathing deeply, long slow breaths, in a futile attempt to rein in his temper. It roiled below the surface of his skin, made his blood scaldingly hot and threatening to erupt at any moment. Not that anyone would know that looking at him. Hux’s exterior was placid, almost serene. His pose mimicked a casualness he almost never felt. But the appearance was the most important part. They were in his quarters, his domain. The Finalizer was his ship, his to oversee and command to be sure, but he was merely one soldier among many in the First Order. That he had more power than most was hardly worth boasting about, but it was a responsibility he took great pride in. He had earned his station, and his hard work had brought with it a few amenities. But he was never really in charge. He gave orders, but he had his own to follow, passed down from above. However here in his chambers, away from prying eyes and the need for constant vigilance, he was truly in control. Nothing could happen in there without his permission, and he could not, would not, be refused. 

Not that the man opposite him had the wherewithal to refuse a direct order. Mired so deep in his own dichotomic mind and held captive by his poor impulse control, Ren was nearly incapable of independent thought. He’d been enslaved by the Force at such a young age, so consumed by its theatricality and so-called miraculousness that he never sought to broaden himself beyond it. His whole being was wrapped up in that mystical, ethereal presence. For years it was the only thing that made him feel whole, kept him from falling apart, and eventually it wasn’t enough. He strayed from the good and bypassed the middle road, to become completely enveloped in the dark at the none-too-gentle beckoning of Supreme Leader Snoke. He craved guidance, relished being told what to do. It was for his own good really. When left to his own devices Ren, let his own emotions ravage him. He swung violently from one temperament to the next. Each day was a struggle, watching the pathetic young man teeter on the brink, barely holding it together. He was threadbare and stretched too thin, seconds away from tearing. It was deplorable that such a weakling could be held in such high esteem. But it was outright disgusting that Hux felt so drawn to him. 

Hux rounded on Kylo Ren. Hux’s gaze callous, red-rimmed and burning with intensity. It was a perfect contrast to Ren’s own demeanor. He was standing, arms at his side looking remarkably useless as they hung limp and unoccupied. His head was bowed. He was staring at a the floor, eyes roving from spot to spot unwilling to settle on anything for more than a few seconds and outright incapable of looking at Hux. His shoulders were hunched as though he thought he could make himself smaller, less noticeable. What ineptitude, what genuinely moronic logic could possess this man to think he’d escape notice by Hux was beyond Hux’s own comprehension, but his pitiable slouching had gone on long enough.

“For goodness’ sake, stand up straight. At least pretend you are not an incompetent dunce.” Ren straightened his shoulders in response, gaining several inches in height. He was tall and lean and cut a more substantial figure than Hux was ever capable of. It was distressing. It gave people the illusion that he was more powerful and more worthy of commendation. It was pitiful really, and unsettling to think about the number of people who had been duped by the so-called Lord Ren and his ridiculous lightsaber, their ignorance fueling Ren’s infamy. If only they knew the truth: the Great Jedi Killer was a joke. Hux felt his stomach tighten with abject disgust when he thought about all the times he’d had to listen to Ren grovel and plead for guidance. He seethed to think Ren had asked that of anyone else. It was despicable, even now in this room.

“I …”Ren’s voice faltered. “I am at your mercy…” He sounded timorous, the incomplete thought uttered just barely above a whisper. It was a lie. They both knew it. That they both will to pretend, that they both craved this infuriated Hux. He surged forward, right hand outstretched. He grabbed Ren’s chin, gloved fingers digging into the pale cheeks and tipping the other man’s gaze upward, away from whatever path on the carpet they’d been tracing, bringing them nose to nose. As their eyes met, one gaze steely and penetrating, the other wide and tinged with something akin to surprise, Hux sneered. The slightest twitch of his upper lip, an irrepressible sign of revulsion. 

“What was that, you insolent little whelp?” Hux demanded. 

Ren’s gaze flickered. A quick dart of the eyes up and to the right, nothing more than a millisecond worth of movement that would have easily been missed had Hux not been standing so close. A lie, a feint. The wretched little mongrel was searching for an answer, the right answer, the answer Hux wanted to hear. Nevermind that there was no right answer. There was no way for Ren to be correct. He’d already failed this little test by speaking out of turn, and now his Adam’s apple bobbed uselessly, fraught with indecision. 

How the hell Ren ever managed to accomplish anything Hux could never be certain. He was a monument to indecision: long, lean and feckless, Kylo Ren was the perfect puppet. Nary a thought passed through his vacant head. It was simply a repository for the thoughts and ambitions of Supreme Leader. Hux could at least be trusted to make his own plans, follow his own training and admirable sensibilities, and most importantly, get things done. Ren was forever being led around, like a lame dog on a leash, waiting for handouts and praise from his master. Well, Snoke wasn’t here right now. It was just Ren and Hux. And Hux was fighting the urge to see how hard he could squeeze with his fingers before Ren’s eyes watered. He knew even the lightest bruises showed obscenely against Ren’s pale skin. So Hux released him, watching the livid red splotches left by the pressure of his fingertips. 

“Disrobe.” It was a simple order. One word, no ambiguity about it, and yet Ren seemed flummoxed. He blinked quickly, several times, his hands twitched forward as though taking action before his brain caught up. Then they returned to uselessly dangling at his sides. It was the first time since Hux had pushed him into the room following his reprehensible hissy fit that Ren had made eye contact of his own volition. Hux raised his eyebrows, the subtle movement bearing the only question he would deign to ask Ren. It was equal parts taunting, pushing Ren through non-verbal communication to comply, and genuine curiosity. Hux wanted to see if this overgrown child would refuse. It took less than ten seconds to be sure he would not. That subtle look was all the urging Ren had needed apparently. His long fingers were clumsy. It was no surprise to Hux. Ren was gangly, not particularly coordinated on a good day. His loping, clambering stride was a testament to that. He had the air of a teen who’d grown too much too fast and couldn’t keep track of his limbs. Hux suspected the only thing keeping him upright most days was the sheer weight of his ridiculous, non-regulation boots. 

The cape went first, pushed over Ren’s head in a violent sweep of his arms and dropped to the floor in an ungainly heap around Ren’s feet. Without the bulk of the cape, Ren was still broad shouldered but somehow more lithe. The taper of his waist, accentuated by that loathsome belt. Wide and leathery, it was ridiculous but always caught the light, drawing more attention to Ren’s physique. The long, floor length robe came next, followed by the tunic he wore underneath. The dark material, layer up on ludicrous layer, was Ren’s armor. It was a costume he hid behind: playing dress up as Kylo to escape his real self. Nevermind that it would do nothing but add drama to the showy, unnecessary, and wholly inefficient twirls he littered his preposterous fighting style with. It was only ever about the show he could put on; his life was one long, insufferable play that he inflicted upon those around them, Hux included. Hux was cursed with the inability to look away. It was fascinating in its grotesquery, its tragedy. Hux berated himself for every time Ren’s insolent existence captivated him, no matter that it was clearly only and ever Ren’s own fault. 

There was a broad expanse of chest now visible. Ren’s skin was milky white, practically glowing in contrast to the black trousers and boots he still wore. The definition of Ren’s body was gentle, his muscles those of someone naturally fit and lean. He wasn’t nearly as slight as the many layers of clothing would suggest. They didn’t add bulk to his frame, quite the opposite. The dark, flowy fabrics made him seem more lithe despite his overwhelming presence. But now, as he slowly stepped out of his boots and hooked his thumbs into the waist of his pants, he seemed to take up even more space than usual. Hux was used to Ren sucking all of the oxygen out of the room, suffocating everyone and everything else with his presence. But, straining for air as Hux took in Ren’s complete nudity, Ren was more solid and real than he’d ever seemed before despite his obvious discomfort. 

Once again Ren didn’t know what to do with his hands. His aborted movements suggested he wanted nothing more than to cover himself, let the planes of his wide palms and long, slender fingers provide a hint of modesty. It wouldn’t do him any good considering what Hux had in mind. 

“Hands behind your back.” It was a firm order that left no room for questions or negotiations. Ren complied, chest thrust forward and shoulders back skin pulled taught as though with the express purpose of drawing the eye to his pert, dusky nipples. Hux reached for Ren again, this time slow and deliberate, and gave the right one a firm pinch. Ren gasped in response, his hands shooting forwards to stop Hux only to find both of his wrists caught in a crushing grip. Hux held Ren’s wrists and pushed, thrusting the man back against the wall and leaning once more into his face. 

“I believe I told you to put your hands behind your back. I expect you to keep them there.” Hux’s voice was cold. Ren nodded tentatively in response, moving his hands behind himself once more and attempting to covertly massage his wrists. “Now let’s see if we can teach you a little self control, shall we?” There was a quiet little hum to punctuate that question. A slight, menacing raise of both eyebrows dared Ren to be contrary. It definitely didn’t portray a hint of faith in Ren’s ability to control himself. Instead the rest of Hux’s expression seemed delighted at the prospect of Ren’s inevitable failure. Hux circled Ren, appraising what stood before him, and letting his palm drag across Ren’s chest and down his arm as Hux moved to stand behind Ren. He cupped Ren’s butt cheek, enjoying the gentle give of the toned muscle in his hand, and leaned in close and spoke over Ren’s shoulder. “I expect you to stand perfectly still. You will keep your hands behind your back at all times. You will address me as sir. And you will not come until I say so. Is that understood?” 

“Yes sir.” Ren looked as though he had an addendum, a concern perhaps, but wisely kept it to himself. He simply punctuated his statement with a jerky nod and a series of anxious swallows. 

“Excellent.” The word was crisp and efficient in direct contrast to the slow, lingering draw of Hux’s finger along the line between the top of Ren’s thigh and the swell of his ass. The slide of the leather glove was buttery soft, a perfect compliment to Ren’s supple skin. His muscles flexed with the obvious effort of not squirming away from Hux’s touch. Despite his previous apprehensions, Ren clearly wasn’t opposed to Hux’s intentions. He was already half hard, the tip of his dick was flushed and glistening with precum where the foreskin had been pulled taut to reveal the head. Of course he was uncircumcised. Everything about Ren was sloppy, undisciplined. Why should his dick be any different? 

Hux decided to ignore that part of Ren’s anatomy for the time being. Instead he settled for drawing his finger in random, abstract patterns across Ren’s torso. The movement of the dark gloved finger against skin was easy, leisurely. Hux took his time, cataloging every twitch of muscle and delighting as goosebumps rose up and marched along Ren’s pale skin following Hux’s touch. It didn’t take long for Ren’s impatience to show. He swayed momentarily time and again. He’d list to the side, eager to shuffle from one foot to another, obviously uncomfortable just standing still and staying passive. The desperation shone in his eyes so brightly Hux could feel it like a physical presence. 

His cock stood tall and proud, flushed and wanting for attention. It was no different than Ren’s typically need for affection. He was starved for it, drowning in his own loneliness, and waiting to see which would kill him first, the heartache that consumed him or the field of battle. He'd led others to believe he was brave. The great Jedi Killer was fearless, strong, above reproach, and not to be questioned. That he would glide into battle, preternatural and unnerving in his poise and composure, striking fear into the hearts of all before him without so much as raising his lightsaber was as good as gospel truth. That it was all a facade, a lie buried beneath a poor facsimile of a dead man, was Kylo’s greatest shame. That Hux knew the truth was his greatest weapon. Hux held his hand, palm up, near Ren’s chin.

“Spit.” It was a cold order but one that Hux considered generous. Ren complied, but the glob of saliva now resting in Hux’s palm was more than Ren deserved. Hux could have taken him in hand dry, pumped him roughly with little regard for Ren’s pleasure. It was crass and unyielding to use spit at all, but using his own seemed extra distasteful. Hux wrapped his hand around Ren’s dick. His fist traced and retraced the rigid, ascending curve as Ren’s cock leaked steadily. Hux passed his palm over the head of Ren’s dick at the end of each upward pull, gathering the slick and spreading it down Ren’s shaft. The touch was too light, and now there was hardly enough friction to really get Ren off. 

It was perfect. Ren’s stomach twitched in an effort to keep from thrusting into Hux’s fist like a rutting animal. Hux would hardly admit that he was pleased with Ren’s attempt at keeping himself in check. It was clearly not a skill Ren employed often; the damage he inflicted in his frequent temper tantrums was a desecrated monument to his failings. Hux leaned in close, hand slowing to a tortuously languid pace, and then stopping altogether while still holding Ren’s dick. 

“I want to you to remember this,” Hux whispered, “the next time you decide to destroy equipment in a fit of rage. I want you to think about my hand on your cock as you reach for your lightsaber.” Hux punctuated his demand with a gentle squeeze and renewed the strokes he had been lavishing upon Ren’s dick. He was rewarded with Ren’s harsh intake of breath. He cupped Ren’s balls and massaged them gently, rolling his thumb over them. “You like this, don’t you, Ren? You like being ordered about, being told what to do.”

“Yes.” It was a humble admission, the sibilant ‘s’ dragged out low exhale as though Ren stopped breathing every time Hux spoke. 

“You’re far less menacing without your helmet. If only they knew what you were really like, how badly you crave approval. You just want to be a good boy, don’t you, Ren?” The answering keen was hardly unexpected. The simple praise, fit for dogs, was Ren’s greatest desire. He needed to be told he was doing well. His fragile ego demanded it and couldn’t be sustained on anything else. As the friction abated, Hux sped up his pace, adding twists and extra pressure intermittently. 

Ren began moaning in earnest, unashamed, and forgetting all pretense of self-control. It was evident he was struggling more and more with each passing second to contain himself. Once he let his arms drop. Each time Hux immediately ceased his ministrations.

“You promised to be good, did you not?”

Ren could only nod in reply. 

“I told you to keep your hands behind your back, and yet…” Hux let the sentiment linger as shame settled more firmly on Ren’s shoulders. Ren put his hands behind his back, hands knotted together so tightly the joints turned white. “Good boy. This is the last time I’ll remind you.” Hux wasn’t known for clemency. Compassion wasn’t part of the First Order agenda, nor had it ever been used positively in Hux’s life. It was a sign of weakness, to him, a fatal flaw. But strategy had always been a strength of Hux’s. And in the here and now, it seemed pertinent to show a little leniency in favor of seeing just how far he could push Ren. 

Hux continued to stroke Ren, never letting himself settle into a rhythm. He ran his left hand over Ren’s torso, up one side, down the other, and back. He flicked Ren’s nipples and rolled them between pinched fingers. He watched Ren’s chest rise and fall, his breathing becoming shorter and more dramatic with time and attention.

“I’m close.” It was the first thing Ren had said in several long minutes. The admission felt too loud for the room. Hux stilled his movements and withdrew his hand. Ren whimpered at the loss. Hux counted to ten, letting Ren settle, letting Ren’s body retreat from the brink before resuming. Hux brought both hands up, rubbing the pads of his thumbs over Ren’s nipples, alternating between light pinches and soothing circles. Ren groaned, tossing his head back and shaking it violently. Hux’s left hand traveled up Ren’s chest, over the column of Ren’s throat, admiring the reddened, overheated skin. His right hand dipped to Ren’s balls, cupping them gently and using his middle finger to caress the beautifully smooth skin. 

“I’m so close. I need to come.” Ren was shaking with want and frustration. 

“What you need,” Hux paused, throwing Ren’s petty desires back at him, “is to learn some discipline. You’ll come when I tell you to.” 

“Please, Hux.” Tears were welling up in his eyes, evidence that he couldn’t take much more. 

“No.” Hux replied cruelly. He watched Ren struggle to stave off his own orgasm.

“Hux…” it was a plea uttered far too late. Ren came hard, grunting as if all the air had been knocked out of him. His shoulders lurched forward as his muscles contracted and his cock spurted over his stomach and Hux’s fist. Hux released Ren instantly, uttering his own undignified curse. Hux wiped his hand front and back over Ren’s chest and watched as Ren sank to his knees, eyes squeezed shut, face crumpled in devastating, incontrovertible sorrow. A harsh sob erupted from him, his shoulders rising and falling jerkily as he gasped for breath. 

“I’m sorry,” Ren confessed. He looked up, and the light caught a solitary tear that cascaded down Ren’s face and dripped off the curve of his chin. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, more quietly this time. “I’ll be good.” Ren bent over his folded legs and buried his head in his hands. He continued to mumble his apologies as his shallow breathing became more akin to sobs. 

“Yes, you will,” Hux agreed, sealing Ren’s oath and daring him to defy his own word moving into the future. Hux grabbed a towel and tossed it towards where Ren was curled on the floor, not bothering to see where it landed. “Now clean yourself up.” 

Ren groped around him, snagging the towel and wiping uncoordinatedly and ineffectively at his stomach. Hux watched dispassionately and gently tugged on the tip of each finger of the glove on his right hand. The glove slid free slowly, and Hux tucked it carefully into his pocket, doing his best to avoid the mess still coating it. The left glove was next, removed with equal care and stowed away in his pocket. 

“Ren.” Hux nodded, simple and perfunctorily, before striding towards the door. It slid open easily and closed with a faint whoosh behind him. He patted his pocket, just two quick taps, and schooled the smirk that was threatening to erupt. He turned right and made his way down the hall, not sparing a glance backwards.

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT: This now has a sequel called [More's the Pity ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8600926)
> 
>  
> 
> Eternal gratitude and then some to [Polaris](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Polaris).  
> I tried to find a north star related pun to include here as a present and failed miserably, so my thanks will have to be enough.


End file.
